If everybody's somebody (then no one's anybody)
by illogicalmusings
Summary: Everyone knows that it's important to take the first step, and Gilderoy, tired of being nobody, decides to finally take it. The catch? No one ever says anything about the direction.


**QLFC, round 6. CHASER 1: (assigned film) Kick-Ass. Team: Appleby Arrows**

 **Optional prompts: (object) thistle, (word) incident, (word limit) 1833**

 **Word count: 1833 (GDocs)**

 **A/N the thistle is Scotland's national emblem because according to the legend, a sleeping party of Scots warriors were saved from ambush by an invading Norse army when one of the enemies trod on the spiky plant.**

 **T** **his may be considered AU** **because Gilderoy's mother is** **a Muggle and doesn't want to have anything to do with him while she is very proud of him according to Pottermore.** **Please, bear with me! Him having two squib sisters is on Pottermore as well. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Apparently, it had been an accident—a mouse chewing an electric cable had been the cause of the fire that was now burning the apartment block where his mum lived with his sisters, his lucky, _non-magical_ sisters.

" _Mum, why?" Gilderoy dropped his Hogwarts letter, looking at it with hatred. "It's just a piece a paper; it doesn't prove anything."_

 _She kept packing. "We had a deal."_

" _I don't have to go, I won't."_

" _It's too late. That_ thing _can't be that easily eradicated, I guess. Or you're just too weak, since your sisters—"_

" _Father said they're Squibs." He stomped on the letter. "See, it never happened. Take me with you."_

" _No, I've waited long enough. The signs have always been there—you're a freak."_

" _B-But, Mum—" His lip trembled and he felt a lump growing at the back of his throat._

" _You're not my son."_

The realization of not being enough had crushed him. His magic—something that should have led him to greatness—had been his heaviest burden for seven years. Now, freshly graduated, Gilderoy had been finally able to suppress the _wrong_ part in him and had tracked down her mother, hoping for reconciliation. He was old enough to be trusted now. If he promised he wouldn't use his magic, she would have to believe him.

The sight he was met with was not one he was prepared for.

The building was engulfed in flames and a crowd of people was gathered in front of it, angry and loud curses coming from them as their homes burnt.

Gilderoy's eyes scanned the crowd, searching for his mother.

"Help!" It was her voice. "Save her, please!"

 _Her? Cecilia? Or Amanda?_

Maybe if he managed to save his sister— _without magic_ —his mother would appreciate him. Not to mention, the crowd would cheer for him.

It was his chance to be liked and popular.

He cleared his throat. "Excuse me.".

"Poor woman! What a tragedy," an old lady said.

"It's times like these a hero would be welcomed," the man answered, ignoring Gilderoy.

"Well, I'm here," he insisted.

"Ah, a hero!" the old woman said with nostalgia. "Like the old times!"

"How true!"

"Right!"

"If only!"

Gilderoy was exasperated. "That's exactly what I'm trying to be!" His wand seemed to burn in his pocket, but he felt his mother's eyes fixed on him so he ignored it.

They looked at him, and he was suddenly aware of the double dose of hair gel he had used and the strong scent of his own cologne.

"Hey, you," one said. "This is not a place for you. You'd better go away before the ash ruins your attire."

"Actually, I'm here to help, so I'd be very grateful if you let me work."

They laughed at him.

Gilderoy didn't lose any more time to convince that band of fools. Elbowing his way, he reached the front door. He took a deep breath in and after a small hesitation—he was not a Gryffindor, after all—he entered.

A thick, black smoke enveloped him, and when he was about to grab the handrail, he stopped just in time, noticing that the plastic coating was melting. He took a few steps, coughing and panting, then he realized that in that moment, counting on his natural strength was like dooming himself.

His mother and the others were out there, and the smoke hid him.

He drew his wand.

After casting a Bubble-Head Charm, he whispered, " _Glacius_."

The fire froze.

 _Whoever claims to be a superhero and not have any special power lies_ , he thought as he moved forward, careful not to cut himself with the sharp ice that surrounded him.

"Help!" came a faint voice.

He thought he recognized it. "Hold on, Cecilia. I'm coming. Almost there." He accelerated the pace until a door. " _Alohomora._ "

Inside the room, the fire was still raging.

After spotting his sister, he ran to her and picked her up, but as he was hurrying towards the door, a beam fell, blocking his way.

He looked around.

The window seemed to be their only escape route, but not even a Wizard could fly.

He coughed as some soot reached his throat, then he finally remembered to cast another Freezing Spell.

Making the beam explode, he carefully came down the stairs, Cecilia in his arms.

...

The worst of it all was that nothing had changed. He would have expected some turning point in the way the others saw him—or at least the way his mother saw him—but nothing of the sort had happened.

The crowd had quickly dismissed him and his _beginner's luck_ , leaving him alone with his sense of inadequacy.

His mother had been the first one to turn her back on him once she was sure Cecilia was safe.

He didn't understand. People had become heroes by taking advantage of their own strong suits. Some had managed to make a name for themselves without any talent. Even a flower as insignificant as a thistle had risen to the honor of saving a country by merely letting itself be stomped on—and honestly, the true credit went to its thorns.

And he? He had a special gift—his magic—that could make him a hero among the Muggles, but he was also ordinary enough among the Wizards to be considered untalented and therefore even worthier of being famous, should he manage to accomplish anything… So why didn't any category apply to him?

Gilderoy, whose desire to shine was greater than any other's, felt destined to fade into oblivion, felt trapped.

His pride rebelled at that thought.

There had to be a way to get what he wanted. _But_ , he thought, _saving people is not the route to take_.

…

"A waitress?" he looked at Cecilia in disbelief. "What do you mean _a waitress_? You have no ambition?"

His sister huffed. "You talk to me of ambition, Gilderoy?"

"What?"

"Listen, you saved me, but that doesn't give you any right to judge my job—"

"It's unbecoming!"

"—while you do nothing all day long. Or have you failed to tell me something?"

"You don't know me."

"Well, you've just graduated. And I doubt you did much during your school years. It sounds like it was a huge disappointment to you."

Gilderoy shifted his eyes, embarrassed. They casually landed on two girls who were chatting nearby, and one of them blinked at him. He averted his gaze and focused on his sister again.

"I haven't done much _yet_ ," he said, "because I haven't had any chance—"

Cecilia rolled her eyes.

"—haven't found anything right to me. It doesn't mean I'm not ambitious though."

"And tell me, what would be the right job for you?"

"I want to be famous! I'm just waiting for a chance, and it's not my fault it has yet to happen."

Cecilia laughed. "Don't you think I want more too?"

"Well, _I_ didn't humble myself like that."

She rolled her eyes again and studied him. "Out of curiosity, how do you plan to become famous? You said you played that sport with that odd name that resembles a hiccup—Q-something-itch—at school—"

"But it wasn't enough. However, I don't lack cleverness since Rowena chose me, so I'll think of something. Fame can find you when you least expect it."

"As long as the person concerned helps it."

"Yes, but I couldn't do it if I was busy being a waiter, could I?"

Cecilia shot him a dirty look and he smiled, a toothy, smug one.

"Well, brother, this conversation's become a vicious circle, and I have to go to work now—no, don't you dare say a word!—but contrary to expectations, it went without incident so please let's keep in touch. You're an interesting subject."

She walked away and he disapparated.

…

The conversation with Cecilia had upset him.

Needing something large to drink, he entered the Hog's Head Inn and ordered some Firewhiskey.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" someone said.

He turned towards the owner of the voice, and a whiff of alcohol reached his nostrils. The man who sat down on the chair near him was clearly drunk, and his hair and teeth looked like they needed to be washed. Gilderoy wrinkled his nose, disgusted. He was about to get up and leave when the stranger spoke.

"I always sit here when it rains. Where I come from, it didn't rain for a long time, and I lived there for three years. In a forest. A nightmare, it was. But, you know, it was worth it. I saved the entire population from a bunch of hags."

Gilderoy tilted his head in interest. "Hags? And you banished—"

"Banish? I didn't _banish_ anyone. I _slaughtered_ those evil creatures. A grind, it was—surveillance, sleepless nights… But it was worth it, huh?" The man took another sip of whatever was in his glass. "I know what you think, boy. You don't believe me."

"I—" Gilderoy didn't know what to say.

"You're not the first one. That's why I've written everything." He reached into his pocket and pulled some sort of notebook out. "Here—"

Gilderoy leaned forward.

"It's all written in here; every detail, every thought, every deed. I'd like to see them try to dismiss me then." He laughed and drank again.

Gilderoy looked at that pitiful excuse for a man in front of him, wondering why he had decided to tell him all those things. _Probably the alcohol_ , he thought.

As the odd man kept on drinking, Gilderoy stared at the notebook. Maybe that was the turn of luck he was waiting for.

It was easy; he just needed to reach out and take it. Its owner was too drunk to notice and remember who had robbed him.

He casually rested his hand on the table near the notebook and he looked around. His companion had just emptied his glass and was twirling it in his fingers, his eyes glazed and unseeing.

Gilderoy eyed the notebook again. In there, the meaning of his life was contained; he would find a reason to get up every morning and would finally say goodbye to monotony and obscurity.

Without a second thought, Gilderoy grabbed the notebook and took the opportunity that the fate had delivered him on a silver platter, wondering why he had not thought of it before. Heroes only exist in books. Well, he'd give the world what they wanted: him in a book, his smile on the cover.

…

" _This_ is my future, Cecilia!" He angrily waved the notebook.

"It was a nasty thing to do."

"Why? Once I'll be famous, I'll help you too!"

"That's not the point. I won't go down this path with you. Whatever I'll do, I'll do it by myself, and the credit will be mine and mine only. And if you insist on this foolishness, I'll have to go and—"

Gilderoy drew his wand. "Don't make me."

She regarded him. "Mum's right; magic ruined you. I won't let you get away with theft."

"In that case… I'm sorry, sister."

"What?"

" _Obliviate_."

* * *

 **This has been my headcanon about him since we discovered that none of his family visited him when he was in St. Mungo. I know it could mean his parents and sisters were already dead, but it could also mean that they didn't want to see him. Well, that's why.**


End file.
